


guillotine.

by sixpm



Category: Naruto
Genre: F/M, Nara Shikamaru POV, Short Story, break-up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-11
Updated: 2017-03-11
Packaged: 2018-10-02 17:58:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10223900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sixpm/pseuds/sixpm
Summary: "I know you'll love me, even when I lose my head."





	

**Author's Note:**

> 03112017 | 429 | point of view.

  A thundering war withheld behind the dark calms. It recedes to it’s pre-existence form as he sleeps, a night’s rest that will strengthen the bones to make it through tomorrow.

******  
   How long has it been? Time does nothing but fill an empty void. It’s a misleading hope, the  ** _‘_** don’t worry, with due- **time** , you’ll forget her. ** _’_**  Yet, the greenery beneath his skin, in his veins, will only continue to grow for so long without the sun. He’ll wilt one day.   
Imaginably that’s what he wants, to become  **stardust**. He’s tried to study space, to calculate the miles of galaxy that stretch above him, but he succumbs to  **their** infinite existence. With this, he’s considered her a constellation, an incessant part of his memory,  _(_ hence the temptation _)_ , but none of them do her justice.   
Unfortunately, this was relevantly new to him.  _Yes_ , he had lost both his father and mentor,  _yes_  it has reformed said war, but it was temporarily because  **she**  had come to his salvage. She was charity, substantial to her cold-blood, and he  **hated**  to admit it. She was the one to stay so the lantern of his heart would not fade; because of the incandescence of her smile,  **his**  war ceased.   
She immodestly hung her belongings in the closet with  **his**  bones on fair days and rainy nights. Shikamaru could vaguely relish the still-sensation of her thumb brushing away his tear droplets or the tap of her forefinger to his chest, tallying his heartbeats when they slept, studying the gentle steadiness of his breathing. Reminiscing now, he was incredibly vulnerable.   
    The warmth of her skin, the endearing radiation, kept his nightmares at bay. He found some peace within the comfort of her arms. For months she decorated him with flowers and gold. So, selfishly she held his beating heart; the huntsman, hunts **woman** , and her prey.   
Temari took advantage of his life as he wept, with each snivel, she took him to the grave. The thought alone made his muscles fluctuate. There was a ingrown fever with no limitations, an illness that could create anything, be anything, left by her. 

******  
    He swallowed, depictions of her body still raw, as if no time has passed. He wanted to decipher her mind, wanted to embrace her, trap himself within the netting of lies. It’s her fault. Yet, he’s found himself pleading for her, gravely begging, but she had already made up her mind.   
   

    This is **his** ,  **his**  hurt, and he’s come to peace with that. She promised she wasn’t going to let him go, but she was selfish and so was he.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Jon Bellion's song 'Guillotine', also posted via tumblr.  
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
